


just enough to keep a distance

by domestictrash



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Artist! Sehun, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, It's literally just them, M/M, an incentive to read, and just maybe sesoo might get it on, but don't worry it has a, but suddenly it got angsty, it was supposed to be a cute lil drabble, just saying, milkman! kyungsoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 17:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12370506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domestictrash/pseuds/domestictrash
Summary: In between paintings and punny post-it notes, Sehun falls in love with his milkman.





	just enough to keep a distance

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a prompt from do-itall 2017. I strayed a tiny bit from the prompter's desires (sorry this cutesy fic suddenly grew angstier and angstier as I wrote it) but I do hope you enjoy!
> 
> The title is taken from Roy Kim's song "Egoist", which I highly recommend you go check out.

Sehun always hated suburbia as a child.

He found the city and its hustle and bustle much more exciting than the dull streets of his neighborhood. The routine was monotonous at best, and he hated the bore of it. Everyday he stared at the hot pavement on his way to school. every weekend he would ride his bike up and down their curved driveway, and every winter he sat at the window desperately hoping that the snowfall would make the view from his bedroom a little different than before.

Now though, everything is different. Sehun tried living in the city straight out of college; it didn’t work. He quickly learned that the noise of the cars doesn’t die down to allow a restful sleep, that what passes for a house is little more than a closet with a toilet. He began to detest the forced passivity of his fellow urbanites, their empty expressions melting into one another's as they jostled past each other in the streets. In his heart of hearts, he missed the smiles, the air, the sun of the life he left behind in his quiet little neighborhood.

So Sehun packed up. After a couple years of saving, he got a permanent installation in a popular art gallery - in other words, he hit the jackpot. His meager funds finally had the boost necessary to allow his move to a tiny town two hours outside of Seoul.

He couldn’t be happier. Sehun loves many things about his life in the country - but he love his house the most. If Sehun had an architectural equal, it would be his lovely little blue house. The exterior is a pastel blue he chose himself; it neatly frames the white window trimmings and his dark wooden door, and serves as a lovely backsplash for his front-garden petunias.

The inside, Sehun adores just as much - perhaps even more. Everything is a bit small, because he likes it that way, despite his own size. He likes curling up on his couch, lounging on the bench in the kitchen. But more than any other room in the house, he loves his studio.

Sehun’s studio is the only room in the house to be completely white. From the tiles to the mile-high ceiling, everything is white. That is not to say, however, that it is devoid of color. Canvases, sketches and embroideries decorate the walls, regaling them with vivid splashes of color. Opened paint cans and half-cleaned brushes clutter the corners, his desk, and the feet of his easel. Sehun likes his easel in the middle of the room because it faces the window. Sometimes, when he gets up early enough, he can sit there and watch the sun rise, soaking in the charcoal night as it blends into catalina blue and splattering it on a canvas. As it progresses, the sky seamlessly shifts into a wondrous pallet of daffodil and debian red that Sehun wishes he had the talent to recreate.

Yet he never does, because he never gets up early enough. He enjoys watching the stars go up in his backyard too much to go to bed at a normal hour. In the summer, it’s not uncommon for him to sleep out there, under the brilliantly punctuated darkness, and wake up to the sun blinding him as it climbs up into the sky.

In essence, he couldn’t be happier. 

Well, scratch that. Sehun wakes up one hot July day to the sun scorching his cheeks because he fell asleep on this lawn chair - in that moment, he definitely could be happier. He races inside, muttering expletives as colorful as his work as he searches for aloe. Sehun’s liberally smothering it on his smarting cheeks when the doorbell rings - eliciting another string of fucks, shits, and fucking shits. 

Sehun opens the door still mouthing his last curse and immediately regrets it when he sees the wide-eyed face of his milkman. The poor guy is clutching at the glass bottle with a look of muted horror as he hands it over and murmurs, “Have a good day, sir.” Sehun gets so flustered that he just grabs the milk and slams the door in his face.

Sehun puts the milk away, and files what just happened away in the “cringing” folder of his memories. He goes on with his day. He doesn’t notice the post-it note that falls from the back of the bottle.

♡

“Yeah, mom, I’m eating…”

“No you’re not, don’t try and play me like a fool, for Christ’s sake.”

Sehun rolls his eyes at the screen. This is why he doesn’t FaceTime his mother. 

“You’re not even here, how would you know? Does your magic mom vision extend into my fridge?”

“No, you idiot, I can tell that your collarbones are showing and there’s nothing on the kitchen counter behind you.”

“I could just be cleanly-”

“I’m your mother, I know that’s not true.”

“I could have become cleanly!”

“Liar.” 

There’s a pregnant pause where Sehun endures his mother shaking her head at him. She threatens to come up there to shop for him, and Sehun almost leaps up out of his chair in disagreement. His mom starts to laugh.

“Jesus, you’re such a wuss, Sehun.” Her smile softens. “Promise me you’ll go shopping today? I have a sinking feeling your fridge is empty.” 

“Just for the record, I have a bottle of milk, but yeah, I’ll go.” 

His mom calls out as he’s about to hit the end call button. 

“Darling…” she pauses, her face twisting into her nervous look that Sehun inevitably dreads. 

“Are you okay? I mean, are you lonely? I know there aren’t many people up there, much less any guys of your persuasion,” (here she winks up at the camera and Sehun praises every god in the world for having parents as accepting as his), “and your father and I just want to make sure you’re not…”

“Mom, it’s okay, I promise,” Sehun cuts the tension. “Sure, this place has nowhere near the amount of gay bars that Seoul has, but that’s what I want. This is a place for me to work.”

His mom raises her eyebrows. “All work and no play makes you a dull boy, Oh Sehun.”

“Jesus Christ mom, are you shaming me for not having sex?” 

“All I’m saying is that a) you need to feed yourself, and b) you look like you need to get some.” 

“I’m hanging up now, this is weird.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

It’s after this exceedingly strange - but very typical of the Oh family - conversation that Sehun decides to actually follow his mom’s advice. His fridge is pitiful; the only things in it are the milk and a questionable bowl of pasta he had made on a culinary whim a while ago. 

Sehun hops in the shower, revelling in how good it feels after a week of being immersed in a piece. He has to scrub hard at some trails of cerulean from his shins, and they leave angry red marks as they leave. He does the same with some cerise on his forearm, and some white on the bottom of his feet. It takes a while. 

When he steps out and looks at himself in the mirror, he actually sees what his mom was worried about. The Sehun staring back at him is pale, paler than usual, and gaunt. His collarbones stick out, his cheekbones painfully defined. He traces the dark circles under his eyes with thin, long fingers. He looks bad. 

Sehun continues to look down, and continues to surprise himself. The edges of his ribs are visible, and his hipbones seem pointy. His legs are sticks. He hasn’t taken care of himself lately, he knows that, but he didn’t know the consequences made him look like an anemic teenager. A commission has been eating up his time lately, and Sehun’s always been one to ignore food in favor of work - it’s just that this is the first time he’s noticed the effects. 

He grimaces at his reflection, and proceeds to dry his hair with his back facing the mirror. 

It takes him a while to actually get to the market; he doesn’t realize how few clean clothes he has, or how often a bicycle chain needs to run before it rusts up. Sehun ends up arriving at the open-air market fifteen minute before closing, and he’s dismayed to say the least when he notices that most of the stalls are already shut down for the day. He forks out fifteen thousand won for a few cartons of berries and a complimentary jar of kimchi, because Grandma Lee is too kind, but no other vendors are open. Which means Sehun has no rice, no kim, and no meat. His mom would kill him.

Sehun turns around to leave, but his long, lanky form fails him. As he turns he unceremoniously collides with someone, falling to the ground with a noisy crash. When he opens his eyes, Sehun sees his milkman laying on the ground in front of him, surrounded by shattered glass and spilt milk. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he offers his hand. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine, accidents happen…” the other smiles. It’s the first time Sehun’s gotten a real look at him. 

His nametag says Kyungsoo, and he’s about two heads shorter than Sehun. His skin is bronzed, and it contrasts nicely against his white uniform. He’s looking up at Sehun with eyes that glow a warm, golden whisky, and suddenly Sehun feels like a schoolboy with a big fat crush. 

“You’re Mr. Sehun, right? Moved here about a couple months ago?”

He nods dumbly. 

Kyungsoo chuckles, and Sehun’s world stops turning. “The one that had a tough Wednesday morning this week?” 

He almost has a heart attack when he remembers the incident, and his tongue trips over itself as he tries to explain. “No, it was just...I had a sunburn, because I slept outside, which, I mean, I do it often but it’s because I-” he stops himself. “Yeah, uhm,” he picks nervously at a scab on his wrist, “tough morning.”

The smile he receives is blinding. Kyungsoo starts talking after that, but Sehun doesn’t really hear what he’s saying. He is radiant. Sehun tunes back in when Kyungsoo repeats himself.

“Mr. Sehun? What do you say?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say? And please, please, we must be the same age - just Sehun.”

Kyungsoo’s blush lights up his cheeks and runs all the way down his neck. “Oh, okay! But, uhm, would you like some food? My mom packed way too much lunch for us this morning.”

Sehun’s about to refuse when he looks down and sees his paltry food supply. “You sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“No problem, really! Besides, I already have to go back to our stand to get the mop.”

Sehun groans, and Kyungsoo laughs good-naturedly. “I told you, don’t worry about it.” His eyes glint. “There’s no use crying over spilt milk, anyway.”

The stall is at the other side of the market, so they idle on with pleasant conversation. Kyungsoo’s family runs the local dairy shop, and has for years. His grandparents and parents are the dairy farmers, and Kyungsoo’s brother and sister-in-law handle the finances. Kyungsoo’s been the delivery boy since he was fifteen, and he wouldn’t give it up for the world. “It’s always been my life, you know? Someday I’ll run the shop, but I like where I am right now.”

Sehun likes listening to Kyungsoo. His whole being is effortless, and sickeningly sincere; sometimes Kyungsoo’s Chungcheong accent sneaks into his vowels, and Sehun can’t get enough of it. He’s sad to stop listening when Kyungsoo hands him two rolls of kimbap and a bag of pickled radishes, and tells him to eat them well. 

“I’ll see you next Wednesday, then?” Sehun hopes his tone isn’t overtly hopeful.

“Sure will!” The other chirps. 

They say goodbye, and Sehun’s bicycling away when he sees Kyungsoo waving goodbye at him. His heart nearly bursts.

Later that night, he binges on both rolls of kimbap and his stomach sees stars. He hasn’t eaten a proper meal in three days, and Kyungsoo’s kimbap has homegrown veggies and freshly-grilled bulgogi. He goes to sleep with a bulging belly and a happy heart. 

♡

Sehun could have sworn he had matured since his high school crushing days, but apparently not. On Monday, he wakes up to work on his commission, and is suddenly disgusted. The landscape he thought was vibrant is bland at best, a nauseating mix of forest green and canary yellow. He scraps it and starts over, and against his usual routine, he doesn’t sketch it out in pencil first. Sehun sits down with his pallet and feels invincible - he splashes a deep mulberry under a stripe of rosewood, and slowly, slowly, the painting comes into shape. It takes him all of Tuesday to get the sky right, but by night, it’s complete. He leans back, and for the first time in a long time, is proud of his work.  
Sehun startles awake at noon on Wednesday, slumped in his desk chair. He yawns and stretches, lazily making his way to the bathroom. He’s dumped his smock in the laundry and is about to hop in the shower when a thought hits him like a freight train. It’s milk day. 

He flings a towel around his waist and rushes to his front door. The bottle’s been sitting there for at least two hours - he’ll have to skip on the milk this week - but then Sehun notices a small yellow post-it note stuck to the side. 

I think you’re legen-DAIRY. 

Sehun smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. The post-it note gets tacked on the corkboard above his desk. 

Over the following weeks, he doesn’t see Kyungsoo, but accumulates his post-it notes with just as much enthusiasm. They’re all above his desk, so when he looks up his eyes meet the cute puns written in small, precise letters. 

You got the MOOs like Jagger.

You’re like no UDDER.

There are also a couple on which there’s no pun, and an apology because he couldn’t think of one before he made his rounds. Sehun keeps those all the same, because he doesn’t keep them for their comedic content anyway. It’s only when he spills the milk in his fridge a few weeks later that Sehun discovers three more post-it notes he had never seen crumpled at the back. His heart bursts as he unfurls each one and posts it next to the others.

Sehun actually sees Kyungsoo about a month later, when he wakes up with an idea for a piece in the middle of the night and stays up painting through the sunrise. He nearly jumps with joy when he hears the doorbell ring. 

The Kyungsoo who greets him is tired, his callous hands gripping at the bottle as if it were a strain to lift it. There are bags under his eyes that weren’t there before, and a huge part of Sehun just wants to gather him up and tuck him into bed. He doesn’t say anything about it, but Kyungsoo addresses it anyway.

“Don’t worry about me, Sehun, I’m fine,” he tries. The smile he puts on doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a fight with my parents. You wouldn’t believe how dramatic dairy can get.” There’s a dry chuckle, laughed purely for the dire need of it.

Sehun’s fingers play with the rim of his sleeve. “If you need someone to talk to, I...I’m always here.” There’s a strange look on Kyungsoo’s face after that, and Sehun rushes to fix it. “I mean, you always cheer me up with those puns, so maybe I could try doing the same for you?”

Kyungsoo smiles for the first time, and time freezes for a little while. 

“You know I just may take you up on that offer sometime…you’ll be sorry you’re so nice.”

Sehun’s sure he won’t be, but he smiles and takes the milk anyway. He waits until Kyungsoo’s gotten safely in his truck to go back in the house.

♡

Sehun meets Kyungsoo a handful more times - sometimes at the market, sometimes just walking down the street, and once by almost ramming into him on his bike while the other was doing his rounds. Kyungsoo is too kind to accept his apology for that, so Sehun has to convince him to let him buy dinner as an “I’m sorry I almost ran you over” gesture. Sehun is uncharacteristically persistent, and Kyungsoo oddly acquiescent - so they end up at their town’s single barbecue place on a Saturday night. 

Sehun’s outfit is over the top and he knows it, but he couldn’t help himself. He had spent half an hour in front of his mirror trying different outfits on as if he were a teenager in a romantic comedy. He settles on a blue sweater with dark jeans and his loafers after about an hour. He even swiped some eyeliner on before leaving because hey, why not. 

Sehun’s sitting at the table fidgeting with his sleeves when Kyungsoo walks in. It’s infuriating, really, how good he looks when he obviously didn’t try. He has on his jeans and a sloppily tucked-in white button down, but it makes Sehun’s insides feel like they’ve dropped into hell itself. As he sits down, Kyungsoo mentions something about how red his cheeks are. Sehun brushes it off. “Just the heat from the grill, you know.”

They make their way through the unlimited pork special as if they hadn’t eaten in days. Somewhere between rounds two and five, Kyungsoo orders some soju and a bottle of Coke to dull the edge, and they both indulge. Kyungsoo, unlike Sehun, holds his drink well (“Everybody in my family has this kind of tolerance...have no idea why. My mom can drink me under the table.”) and keeps pouring them shots with the confidence of a bartender in a James Bond movie. Sehun on the other hand starts feeling a bit hot after two shots.

It’s at the bottom of the third bottle of soju and the second bottle of Coke that Kyungsoo suggests they’ve had enough. When Sehun asks why, Kyungsoo’s laugh echoes in the empty restaurant. 

“Maybe because you’re falling asleep on the table?”

Sehun sits up immediately in indignant response. “Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Correct answer.”

Sehun can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, but Kyungsoo’s smile is even prettier in the shitty restaurant lighting. He can see all the lines in his face, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the crow’s feet that form at the corners of his eyes when he laughs. He’s leaning back, one hand on the table and one around the back of the chair, and Sehun would be lying if he didn’t want to crawl into his lap and have him take him right then and there.

He gets up to pay, and Sehun tries to protest. “This was supposed to be my treat, goddamnit,” but Kyungsoo doesn’t hear him. Or pretends not to.

By the time he’s come back, Sehun’s dumped his wallet out on the table, and Kyungsoo has to dive to save a fifty thousand won bill from falling on the hot grill. He helps stuff the money back into his wallet, promising that Sehun can get it next time. 

Sehun’s head spins at the possibility of a next time.

Kyungsoo walks Sehun home, one arm wrapped around his waist. Sehun isn’t that drunk - he can definitely walk by himself, but he doesn’t say anything. Kyungsoo’s hands are warm through his sweater. 

They walk up to his front door, but Sehun doesn’t reach for his keys, and Kyungsoo doesn’t move either. In the dim lighting of his porch light, Sehun sees the angles of Kyungsoo’s features, the hollow around his eyes, the protrusion of his Adam’s apple, the dip of his collarbone. 

He can’t place Kyungsoo’s expression though. He’s just staring back, with that blank face that could mean a million things or nothing at all. Kyungsoo’s big eyes are so wide he can swear he can see the reflection of the heavens in them, and he catches himself as he leans down to look into them. He doesn’t want to scare the man off. 

Sehun opens his mouth to say goodnight. He doesn’t get to, because just as his lips part Kyungsoo hooks a hand behind his neck and drags him down for a kiss. 

His lips are soft, and his mouth tastes of Coca-Cola. Sehun likes it a lot.

Before he gets a chance to react, Kyungsoo backs off, his brows furrowed. Sehun can’t tell through the dark, but it seems as if he’s about to cry. Kyungsoo takes a couple steps backwards before hastily making his way back to the street. 

Sehun stays outside, frozen in front of his door, until he sees Kyungsoo’s silhouette fade in the night. He doesn’t sleep very well that night, because all he can feel is the press of Kyungsoo’s lips, and all he can remember is his teary eyes afterwards. 

On Sunday, he wakes up at noon. It’s not milk day. Yet Sehun’s opening his door to water his flowers when he hears the telltale crack of a glass bottle. Sehun steps outside to find a shattered jug on his front porch, milk pouring out of its pieces, and a note. “I’m sorry.” The pen ink bleeds as the post-it gets soggy.

Sehun doesn’t put this one on the board right away. He keeps it in his pocket for most of the day, reaching in to touch it when he starts to doubt what happened. He puts it on his bedside table before he goes to sleep that night.

♡

The next two days, Sehun doesn’t see Kyungsoo. In fact, nobody does. He hears from his neighbor that apparently Kyungsoo is sick, bed-ridden. Sehun isn’t sure if he believes that. 

He doesn’t know how to feel about the whole situation. He likes Kyungsoo, that’s a certainty; but the feelings on Kyungsoo’s side seem to be muddled, and that hurts Sehun. It hurts him a lot more than he’d like to admit, because it’s been awhile since he’s been interested in someone, and even longer since he’s been in a relationship. And when Sehun falls for someone, he falls hard.

It’s a while before he sees Kyungsoo, and his paintings reflect it. His manager in Seoul actually calls him about it, asks if everything is okay, because Sehun doesn’t like to paint with black, and he rarely keeps his work monochrome. But that’s the only stuff that comes to mind when he sits down at his easel anymore; the sunsets outside his window still shine brightly, but Sehun can’t find it within him to splash them on the canvas.

It’s not as if Sehun’s life stops - he isn’t, after all, a one-dimensional rom-com character whose life falls to bit without the object of their affection. Yet it’s undeniable that his mood is different; he finds so many things remind him of Kyungsoo, and each time that name pops into his head, his brain swims in a mix of confusion, guilt, and a little bit of anger too. Mostly he just misses him though. If he closes his eyes, Sehun can still feel the ghost of Kyungsoo’s lips hastily brushing against his, the puff of hot breath when they parted. 

Sehun doesn’t let himself cry about it though. There had been no promises, no pretenses. A kiss can be just a kiss, and if that’s all it was, he’ll get over it in due time. All he needs is time.

Three weeks after the kiss, Wednesday morning comes and goes. Despite himself, Sehun still finds himself excited when he wakes up, his feet dragging his tired self to the door to get the milk. Kyungsoo doesn’t ring the doorbell anymore - Sehun suspects that he intentionally makes the rounds for his street first thing in the morning. Not a chance in hell Sehun will be awake then. He takes the milk inside, his fingers scratching at the place on the bottle where the post-it note usually is. Was. He hasn’t gotten a post-it note for a while now.

That afternoon, a downpour starts. Sehun’s hands curl around his hot chocolate as he notes how it’s good, his garden’s been looking really dry recently. He stares out there for longer than he’d like to admit, admiring the rhythmic, constant pattern of the raindrops against his window. He shakes himself out of it soon enough though, and picks up his needle to continue stitching his next commission. 

The design is split down the middle; on one side, a brilliantly complicated half of a rose, each petal blooming with five different thread colors that Sehun must patiently weave around each other. The other half, however, is simplistic, the other half of the rose stitched in clear black outlines, strong in its minimalism against the intricately colored petals beside it. 

Sehun has just threaded the needle with the black when a knock comes at the door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he notes that it’s still pouring, and he hurries to the door.

Kyungsoo is standing there, soaked to the bone. He’s still in his uniform; the white shirt and pants are clinging to his form, the blue embroidered Do Kyungsoo emblazoned on his chest becoming translucent as it gets wet. His short bangs are plastered to his forehead, and though his eyes don’t betray anything, Sehun senses an almost immediately perceptible air of sadness.

Kyungsoo opens his mouth as if to say something, but Sehun just opens the door wider, and the former steps in. No words are said. 

Sehun rushes to the bathroom and picks up a couple towels, and when he goes back he finds Kyungsoo still standing by the door, silent. He hasn’t even taken off his shoes, and is standing in front of the step that leads to the rest of the apartment. Sehun doesn’t break the silence as he kneels, painstakingly unties the shoelaces so neatly done. He gently grabs each ankle, and pulls it out of its shoe. When he stands up, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kyungsoo’s eyes this big, this up close. Sehun tugs at his arm gently, and his voice comes out soft,

“Come on, we can sit on the couch and get you dry.” 

He’s surprised at himself. He’s spent the last three weeks stewing in some unfathomable mix of emotions, but Sehun finds none of that matters now. A part of him is actually trying to be mad at Kyungsoo, but he can’t find it within him. All he has for Kyungsoo is the deepest fondness he can find in his heart, and it hurts so, so much to see him like this. 

Sehun has never thought of Kyungsoo as small before, but right now, sitting on his couch in his soaked uniform and towel-dried hair, no adjective befits him better. He’s hunched over, a towel over his shoulders when Sehun comes back with a clean shirt and some sweatpants. He’s about to hand them to the other man when he sees that Kyungsoo’s hands are shaking, balling the fabric of his pants at the knees with such force that his knuckles turn white. Sehun doesn’t know what he’s thinking when he lays his hands over Kyungsoo’s. 

“God, I’m- I’m so sorry, Sehun.” Kyungsoo stutters, and it takes Sehun a minute to understand and look up to realize that Kyungsoo’s eyes are glassy with tears. 

“I kissed you, and then I ran way, and I come back like this, out of the blue, and you’re - you’re just so nice, and you do all this, and…”

Kyungsoo’s words cut off when he bursts into tears. Sehun saw it coming, and he’s already on his knees in front of Kyungsoo, pulling his head into his shoulder. Kyungsoo’s hands come up to fist Sehun’s shirt as he cries himself out, and Sehun finds himself sighing, tension bleeding out of his frame as he registers that Kyungsoo needs him there as much as he does. 

Neither of them knows how long it is they stay like that, Kyungsoo’s face buried in the crook of his neck, Sehun’s hand tenderly cupping the back of his neck, running through his hair. It smells of rain and rosewood, and Sehun’s still basking in the scent when he notices that Kyungsoo has stilled. His hands are still clutching his shirt though, and Sehun doesn’t let up his embrace. Not yet. 

“I didn’t come back because -” 

“You don’t need to tell me -”

“Yes, yes, Sehun, I do, because I need you to know.” Sehun wants to hit himself because Kyungsoo’s eyes are still puffy from crying, but they’re quickly filling up again.

“My family, they don’t know. Or, my parents don’t, I’m pretty sure my brother’s figured it out by now but I think he’s fine with it?” Kyungsoo lets out a long breath, closing his eyes to steady himself. 

“...and I can’t tell them Sehun. They’ve made it clear - they’re not okay with it - and I could lose everything, I could get cut off, I could get kicked out of the business. And this town is so small, and rumours spread fast, and as soon as I kissed you I knew, I just knew that I risked too much.”

Both of them let out the breath they were holding. Kyungsoo’s gaze meets Sehun’s, and he must read something in it because he takes his hand between both of his tan, calloused ones. 

“But the last month was hell, because I left you like that, and then today I was passing your house and I couldn’t walk past. So I knocked and then,” Kyungsoo chuckles under his breath, “all this happened.” His cheeks blush and Sehun feels himself smiling at the sight. 

But all of the sudden Kyungsoo’s face drops, and he looks as if Sehun grew two heads. He stands up abruptly, and if it weren’t for Sehun standing up and grabbing his shoulders just as fast, he probably would have bolted. Again.

“Why are you going to leave now?”

“Are you- are you just being nice to me? I’m the only one who’s said anything so…” Kyungsoo’s face is pale from dread.

Sehun cups his cheeks and pulls him closer. He can feel Kyungsoo’s panting breaths on his lips. 

“I really don’t see how anyone could resist you.”

When Sehun slots their lips together, he drinks up the umpteenth sigh of relief that Kyungsoo lets out, and doesn’t stop kissing until the other is putty in his arms and the need for breath makes both of their faces a bright cherry red. Sehun pulls him into a hug, and Kyungsoo wraps his arms around his waist, and pillows his head on his chest. Sehun drunkenly thinks that nothing has ever felt better. Kyungsoo is thinking the same thing. 

The rest of the night is just as emotional as the beginning - Kyungsoo stays the night, and Sehun shows him everything. He lets him into his studio, and Kyungsoo immediately notices the rows of fading post-it notes that crowd the corkboard. He reaches down to hold Sehun’s hand, and doesn’t let go for a long time. 

They sit on the porch outside until late, sheltered from the rain. Sehun can’t get enough of how Kyungsoo is swamped by his spare clothes, and Kyungsoo can’t help himself from pressing soft kisses to the column of Sehun’s neck as he’s talking, relishing in the vibrations that send a chill straight through him. 

When they finally curl up in bed, Sehun discovers how nice it is to be the little spoon, and belatedly murmurs how he hopes this goes on forever. His heart swells with warmth when he hears Kyungsoo, whose face is muffled into his shoulder blades, agree.

♡

Kyungsoo pulls his lips away from his and starts kissing his way down; he lingers on his jawline, then on his collarbones, and slowly travels down his sternum. After each one, he hoists himself up to admire the blushing bloom that unfolds on his skin after each kiss. Sehun digs his face into the sheets in embarrassment. 

The kisses stop there though - they’re replaced by fingers, ever so gingerly tracing the outlines of his ribs. Sehun opens his eyes to look down when he hears Kyungsoo suck in a sharp breath. 

“This isn’t okay, Sehun.”

He can’t think of a good answer. The expression on Kyungsoo’s face is pained in the most subtle way, but his eyes don’t quit drilling into his ribcage. “You shouldn’t be able to see this.” 

Kyungsoo rests his forehead against his stomach, and all of a sudden Sehun can’t breathe. His chest rises and falls dramatically as he tries to get some air in, leave the tears safely inside his eyes. Kyungsoo climbs back up and hovers above Sehun, one hand firmly behind his neck. As he bends down to press a kiss to his lips, he whispers, “It’ll be okay.” Sehun doesn’t know how, but he knows it will. 

It takes a little makeout session to get back in the mood, but soon Kyungsoo’s hands have found purchase on Sehun’s hips. His hair is soft, Sehun thinks to himself. He tangles his fingers in it as Kyungsoo’s head bobs up and down, a jolt of pleasure running up his spine. 

It’s not long before Sehun feels his stomach clenching, his hips bucking up to meet the roof of Kyungsoo’s mouth; he’s able to gasp a couple of waits before the other pulls off with an obscene pop. Kyungsoo’s smirk is so out of character, “Not good enough?”

Sehun sits up and kisses the life out of him. “Too good.” He rolls them over and takes the opportunity to let his hands roam, over firm shoulders and a toned stomach. Kyungsoo gasps into his mouth. Sehun notes to himself once again that, for a milkman, he’s considerably ripped. His hand reaches underneath Kyungsoo’s boxers as he playfully asks, “How does a milkman get so toned, huh?” 

Kyungsoo’s hips buck up, already sensitive to his touch. He laughs breathlessly. “Oh, you know, I…” he gasps, “...I lift.”

That makes Sehun laugh so hard that he actually has to pause, burying his head in the crook of Kyungsoo’s neck as he shrieks. “That was a really dumb joke, Sehun.”

“Was fucking hilarious, is what it was.”

He gives him a moment to compose himself. “Sehun, my goddamn balls are turning blue, are we gonna do this or not?”

Sehun’s hand starts up again, this time pushing the boxers off. He wipes his thumb over the slit, and delights in the resulting shudder. He continues for a while, admiring the way Kyungsoo’s face screws up and relaxes with each pump. It’s a couple of minutes until Kyungsoo actually starts hiccuping out of pleasure, one hand fisting the sheets and the other mussing up Sehun’s hair. He tugs at it so Sehun looks up; “I really wanna fuck you.”

Sehun gulps. “Please.”

Kyungsoo is painfully gentle, and it makes Sehun’s heart swell. He stretches him, he gets the lube and the condom, even places a warm hand on Sehun’s concave stomach as he pushes in. It’s sweet. He’s pushing Sehun’s legs back as he fucks him when he slows to a stop. “How would you feel about riding me?”

That’s how Sehun ends up bouncing on Kyungsoo’s dick, completely and totally overwhelmed. His hands roam in an effort to distract himself enough not to come immediately; he leans down to feel Kyungsoo’s stomach, he holds his bangs out of his face, he bends back on the bed. Sehun always thought he was loud; yet with Kyungsoo, the noises are literally fucked out of him. The only sounds that come from him are his short little pants, mere murmurs next to the slapping of skin. 

Towards the end, Kyungsoo sits up and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling Sehun flush against him. The boy’s skin is blotchy, his cheeks bright red. Sehun’s hands find Kyungsoo’s chin, tugging it up and smashing his lips against his. Kyungsoo breathes in his exertion, thrusting up to meet Sehun halfway. 

They lay there awhile afterwards, catching their breath. Eventually Sehun rolls over and curls around Kyungsoo, tucking his head underneath his chin. 

Sehun lets his fingers dance across the other’s collarbone, appreciating how the smooth skin dips before reaching his shoulder. His thighs are starting to feel sore, and his body feels exhausted, satiated to the point of sleep, but Sehun can’t fall asleep. He looks at Kyungsoo’s chest, at the heart that’s been sneaking out at midnight every night for the past three months and walking across town to spend the night, that brings him extra milk bottles every Wednesday night, that cooks for him when he’s too stuck on a commission to do anything for himself. His chest feels tight, and he sucks in a gasp as he tries to relieve it. 

Sehun scoots himself up to be eye to eye with Kyungsoo on the pillow; he allows himself to admire him for a second. Kyungsoo’s bangs are longer now, and messy against the white of Sehun’s pillow. His eyes are half-closed, and Sehun can count each long lash that curls up towards his brow, and each freckle that adorns his temple. He brings a hand up to his face, caressing the definition of his jaw, letting his thumb brush across his cheek. Kyungsoo is so beautiful it hurts.

“I love you, Kyungsoo,” Sehun whispers, his eyes shut. 

Plump lips press against his knuckles, the top of his shoulder, the apple of his cheek, and finally his lips. 

“I love you too, Sehun.”

♡

**Author's Note:**

> this was just self-indulgent semi-angsty sesoo. i'm not sorry, but i probably should be.


End file.
